


To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

by lightspire



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, One Shot, Romance, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightspire/pseuds/lightspire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a first time for everything. Written for the Whouffaldi First Kiss challenge on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Those people with the long necks really knew how to party. They’d been at it for so long they’d gotten it down to a science – a science that included a drink remarkably similar to ginger beer.

“What, this stuff? It’s nothing,” the Doctor said, shrugging and taking a sip from the pink curly straw that stuck out of the top of his glass. “I can metabolize anything. Well, almost anything. Not aspirin -- never give me aspirin, nor praxis-range gas because then I’d be forced to eat celery and for god’s sake never give me carrot juice. But this? At worst it’ll make me fall asleep for a few seconds. You’ll never even notice, since I usually do that when you’re not looking anyway.” 

Clara peered over the top of her sunglasses, raised an eyebrow, and smirked, dimpling her right cheek. “We’ll see. Bet you an Altarian dollar I can drink you under the table.” She’d already had a few nips of the spicy, bubbly drink and was feeling more smug than usual. 

“Not a chance,” he replied, removing the straw and downing his drink in one gulp. He grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows, flashing her a smile that lit up the room – or at least the part of the room where Clara sat. They had claimed a small table in the corner of a huge dance hall hung with glittering “Happy New Year 2356-2360” banners, and were enjoying the festive atmosphere. It was a nice change from their usual routine of running down corridors and near-death experiences.

“Go on then,” she said, swallowing her own drink. She perched her sunglasses atop her head and winked at a cute long-necked server with flowing red hair and a tight mini-skirt. “Two more of these, please,” she said to the server, waving a credit bar that the Doctor had miraculously produced from one of his bottomless pockets.

As the evening rolled on, the drinks flowed, music thumped, colorful lights flickered, and long-necked aliens swirled on the dance floor around them. After twelve—or was it thirteen? – drinks, the Doctor stood up and started dancing, waving a banana around wildly in one hand and a yellow yo-yo in the other, declaring loudly to all within earshot, “I’m Doctor Disco Funkenstein so you’d all better stand back while I GET DOWN and GET FUNKY! C’mon Clara, my impossible girl, come and dance with me!” That’s when Clara decided it was well past time to cut him off.

“I win, Doctor Disco,” she said into his ear as she grabbed his velvet-covered arm and steered him towards the TARDIS. 

“But I’m still dancing! The universe doesn’t end because the Doctor dances,” he complained. Determined to get him away from the party, she shot him a look, wiggled her backside, grabbed his shoulders – and, while he grinned like an idiot -- she spun and danced him towards the TARDIS doors. Along the way her sunglasses slipped off her head and were lost, crushed under a hundred boogying alien feet.

Somehow they made it inside, but the rest of the night was a little blurry. Clara vaguely remembered stumbling through the TARDIS doors, giddy and laughing, leading the Doctor by the hand down a hallway where suddenly a pillow-filled room had appeared. They had collapsed gratefully onto the pillows, and before he could point at Clara and say “Sontar-Ha ha ha ha ha!” the Doctor had fallen fast asleep. Exhausted and almost certain she’d left her dignity somewhere between the drinks and the dance floor, she curled up next to him and slipped into darkness.

\------

It was the next morning, probably. It was always morning somewhere in the universe, so that was true enough, at least.

Clara yawned, blinking in the soft light and rubbing the sleep from her eyes (she always made a point of doing that now, after that one particularly nasty adventure).

The first thing she noticed was the Doctor lying next to her, fast asleep on a fat, squishy mattress that was emblazoned with “Squornshellous Beta’s finest guaranteed” on the tag. His lips were set in a soft smile and his eyelids fluttered under his long eyelashes as he dreamed. The second thing she noticed was the room. It was filled with downy pillows, mattresses scattered across the floor, and a stack of woolly blankets in the corner. The reassuring hum of the TARDIS echoed through the ceiling and warm, dim light shone from glowing roundels in the walls.

“OK, then – back home. That’s a start,” she thought, stretching and rubbing her neck as she sat up. 

“Clara!” The Doctor suddenly cried out in his sleep, scowling, his eyebrows in attack mode. Some nightmare had caught him, and her heart ached for him in that moment.

“I’m here, Doctor,” she whispered, kneeling over him and resting a hand on his cheek. She gently caressed the silver curls at his temples with her fingertips. “Shush, my Doctor,” she whispered, “I’m here.”

“My Clara,” he sighed, comforted, and settled deeper into the pillows. She was so close to him that she could feel his breath on her skin.

Clara studied him, her hand still on his cheek. A wild cascade of hair framed his elegant face, which had returned to that contented expression she’d seen when she first awoke. He looked so peaceful, so relaxed, as though the weight of two thousand years had been lifted for just a moment: relaxed, and yet vulnerable. She knew how deeply he could feel, could hurt…and especially, could love, though he never said it directly. Overwhelmed with tenderness for this being, the Doctor, her best friend, not her boyfriend but so much more, she leaned forward and – ever so gently – risked brushing his other cheek with a kiss.

“Mmm….” he said, smiling again. Not wanting to wake him, she started to sit up but suddenly found the hand that rested on his cheek gently trapped under his own long fingers. “Clara…” he murmured, his voice low and gravely with sleep. The Doctor’s eyes snapped open and he looked straight into her: not at her, but deep into her eyes, into her soul. It was almost as though he had heard her thoughts.

Her breath caught in her throat. She felt utterly exposed and her cheeks flushed red. She feared for an instant that he would push her away, but instead of reprimand there was love in that storm-blue gaze -- fierce and deep and unbreakable. Something else smoldered there, too just beneath the surface, like flashes of lightning…or fire. She licked her lips, and he saw. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, then back up – and her pulse quickened. 

“Oh, Clara…my Clara….” He reached up with his free hand and cradled her face in his palm. “I dreamt I’d lost you. Lost you without ever….” His voice trailed off. He traced her bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes boring into hers. A jolt of electricity ran down her spine. 

In a shock of recognition, she understood. She knew what he wanted. Oh god, it was happening – the not-a-hugger actually wanted to kiss her. This thing that she had desired forever and had stopped daring to hope for was happening, here and now. A million jumbled thoughts and feelings raced through Clara’s mind in that instant, tripping over themselves as they tried to sort themselves into something coherent but failed miserably. She was falling. She was falling in love hard and fast with no turning back, and was trying desperately to do that trick where she didn’t, but it wasn’t working, not this time.

His hand slid from her lips around to the back of her head, where he tangled his fingers in her hair, and held her there, waiting. Searching her face. Holding his breath. Stilling his heartbeats.

For a fraction of a fraction of a nanosecond, Time stopped. A nearby supernova froze in the middle of its fiery death-throes. Somewhere deep in the forgotten corridors of the TARDIS, a dusty velvet-lined room full of clocks paused, the space between seconds stretching out into eternity, marking this moment. The universe held its breath, waiting to exhale.

And she fell. And then she smiled, and laughed a tiny laugh.

He smiled back, and breathed with relief, and time began again.

And then – she kissed him, brushing her bottom lip against his top lip, teasing his mouth open with a sigh. He arched his head back, moving in synchrony with her, following her mouth as she moved over him. She dipped down again, capturing his bottom lip this time, tugging gently as he closed his mouth over hers. When she caressed his lips with the tip of her tongue a low moan escaped his throat. He pulled her towards him then, opening to her, to Clara, his Clara, his love. And in that single, timeless moment, a fixed point formed. Their timelines fused, their breath became as one breath, and three hearts beat as one.


End file.
